


The Once and Fallen King

by Babble



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Sovngarde (Elder Scrolls), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babble/pseuds/Babble
Summary: For Nords with ice in their veins and fire in their hearts, death is not always the end of the journey. Sovngarde presents its own challenges, beyond mortality and bloodshed. When the Dragonborn of legend is defeated before he can fulfill his destiny, the deceased High King Torygg and Ulfric Stormcloak must travel back in time from the afterlife to save Skyrim from certain doom.
Relationships: Ulfric Stormcloak/Torygg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Strange Deadfellows

There were times the late High King Torygg thought he had been punished by the gods when they sent him to spend his afterlife in Sovngarde.

The first few months - speaking vaguely, of course, as time seemed to pass differently here - had been interesting enough. The dreamy sapphire realm of the honored dead was filled with all sorts of fascinating characters from Skyrim's history. Torygg had always been more of a scholar than a warrior, and countless days of his childhood had been spent poring over old tomes of knowledge and tales of ancient heroes. Meeting Olaf One-Eye and Ysgramor had definitely been highlights of Torygg's unlife.

They had passed entire weeks (again, in a manner of speaking) comparing their mortal experiences and views on different subjects. Ysgramor certainly had much to say about the Septim Empire and the 'plague of elves' currently spreading from Alinor. Olaf offered his advice on Skyrim's current dragon affliction, as if Torygg was in a position to do anything about it nowadays. All his life, his elders had been imparting seemingly wise advice without anyone asking for it. It was amusing to him that this had not changed.

Awkwardness had arisen when Torygg discovered quite how different he was from most of the Nords and Atmorans in Sovngarde. To end up in this realm of Aetherius, one had to die valiantly in battle, and everywhere Torygg looked there were fierce men and women who exemplified the ideals of Nord life. They filled the Hall of Valor with laughter and song, draining enough barrels of mead and ale to drown an army of elves. There were many tales told of great battles and duels from centuries ago. Torygg enjoyed a good story, and he could hold his mead with the best of them; but was it asking too much, to enjoy a cup of wine every now and then? Gormlaith Golden-Hilt had laughed in his face when he offered her some of his Firebrand.

"I'm astonished you can even summon that rat's piss." Gormlaith waved him away. "Begone with you now, slain king."

That was another thing. While the lives of most of these dead Nords were rich and full of storied adventures, Torygg's only truly valiant act had come quite late in his life. If one were considering it with brutal honesty, the courage that had earned him a place in Sovngarde had lasted all of five minutes. The last minutes of his life.

The others admired his courage for standing up to Ulfric Stormcloak, but there were only so many kind things you could say about a duel that had ended with a High King dead on his palace floor and a mere Jarl standing over him with nary a scratch. Torygg suspected many of these Nords would have supported Ulfric's cause, had they been alive during his rebellion. He did not resent them for it, just as he did not resent Ulfric himself, but it made his afterlife all the more uncomfortable.

His boredom with Sovngarde came to an unpleasant end. The war that had begun with a duel was now raging in earnest, and the strife and bloodshed of Skyrim was felt even in the afterlife. Torygg spent most of his time at the foot of the forest path, waiting for young men and women to materialize. They always came stumbling, dazed and confused, like infants entering a new world. The allegiance of these fallen Nords mattered little to Torygg. In Sovngarde, all were siblings and companions. One Imperial soldier that came through looked surprised to see him, his eyes brightening in recognition.

"My king," he spoke, falling to his knees. "'Tis an honor."

"There are no kings here," Torygg replied pleasantly. He pulled the man to his feet. "You can call me Torygg. It would be my pleasure to lead you to the Hall of Valor."

And so it went. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of soldiers. Torygg put on a brave face for them, but his immortal heart wept for the homeland he had left behind. _How many of these Nords would be safe in their farms and villages, if I had just been stronger? Perhaps I should have focused on honing my skills in battle, even dabbling in the Thu'um as Ulfric did._ Instead Torygg had focused on statecraft and diplomacy, for all the good it had done. No visiting dignitaries had leapt out to shield Torygg from Ulfric's sword.

Likely the Empire would have defended him, if he had summoned legionnaires, but refusing Ulfric Stormcloak's duel and hiding behind the Emperor's skirts would have ended his reign just as swiftly. _I may not have been a powerful warrior, but I still had honor._ He did not like to think about the day of the duel overmuch, as the images of Elisif's despair haunted him. In his worst moments, Torygg longed for the day he would see her again.

There was little need for labor in Sovngarde; the realm pretty much took care of itself, and Tsun the bridge guard handled the rest. Torygg embraced his unofficial position regardless, and found himself almost enjoying his time spent welcoming new souls to Sovngarde more than the droll days in which he had graced the Hall of Valor with his presence. Meeting fresh faces had always brought him pleasure. Why should it matter that these were the faces of the dead? Torygg was the first Nord nearly all of these people encountered when they arrived in Sovngarde. He hoped it brought some of them some small comfort to see their former High King again, even if they'd chosen Ulfric in the war. Torygg occasionally sought new tidings from those that now served his wife.

"High Queen Elisif does well?" He asked the legionnaire, helping him over an infamous root hidden in the path.

"Still Jarl Elisif, begging your pardon." The soldier looked around wondrously. Torygg didn't think he would ever grow tired of seeing the awe in the faces of fresh arrivals. "But the war turns in our favor. I was struck down in the battle for Whiterun, your grace. General Tullius has enlisted the Dragonborn into the Legion. With him on our side, it will just be a matter of time."

A Dragonborn! Though politics mattered little to him now, Torygg thanked Talos that this hero of legend had chosen Elisif's side. He wished his wife to live a rich and lengthy life, regardless of his desperate longings in private. _She should be the one to rule Skyrim. I'll be happy to greet her a hundred years from now, after she has passed away in a fine bed surrounded by loved ones. Let her find love again. Raise some beautiful children, raise them into proud warriors and savvy statesmen. Maintain our bonds with the Empire, and be wary of the Dominion._ Torygg ached for the day when the flow of Nordic souls would dwindle. He wanted to grow bored again.

But whoever this new Dragonborn was, he did not seem to share this wish. The next few months were the bloodiest yet. One morning Torygg returned from the Hall to find the path clogged with souls, a crowd of Nords both Stormcloak and Imperial shoved suddenly into the afterlife.

"Where did you come from, kinsman?" He asked a nearby Stormcloak who looked more pulled together than the rest.

"Windhelm." The man's face was pale and withdrawn. "The Dragonborn's making his final assault."

A few other old souls from the Hall joined Torygg in the forest to help him usher in the newcomers. By the cartload they came, screaming in half-remembered pain or gasping for air they no longer needed. There were still tensions between some of the soldiers, who minutes before had been determined to kill each other. Fortunately, they came to realize quickly that killing someone in Sovngarde was like drowning a fish in the sea. No physical harm could come to those who did not wish it, so these initial brawls mostly consisted of a lot of shouting and hugging. Torygg stood patiently waiting.

Much later, things were finally beginning to settle down. The flood of the dead was dwindling to a trickle as the conflict on Mundus came to an end. Torygg dryly reflected on how difficult it was to tell which side had emerged victorious: Imperial Nords and Stormcloaks had come to Sovngarde almost in equal measure. One of the last Stormcloaks had to inform him which faction's banners were now draped over the stone walls of Windhelm.

Given all this information, Torygg shouldn't have found himself surprised by what happened after all his helpers had returned to the Hall of Valor along with the newly shepherded souls. Still, though. It wasn't every day that you came face to face with the man who had slain you, even in the afterlife.

Ulfric Stormcloak knelt panting in the dirt, his hands clutched around his throat. Torygg tried not to enjoy the sight overmuch. The late rebel's housecarl faded into view beside him, gasping desperately.

"A pleasure to see you again, Jarl Ulfric." Torygg stood over them, his expression neutral. "And a delight to meet you, Galmar."

The late High King had a feeling his afterlife was about to get a good deal more interesting.


	2. The Return

The strangest thing about being dead was living without sleep. Before, Torygg had relied on the unconscious periods of night to give distinction to his mortal existence. Nowadays, time was a long and unbroken stretch. His mind and his body never grew weary. It was all well and good, he supposed, but it made it difficult to tell how much time had passed since Ulfric Stormcloak had come to Sovngarde.

Months, at least, Torygg guessed. Months since the Civil War ended in a bloody cacophony of brother against brother, sister against sister, father against son. The flow of souls had dwindled, thankfully, though it tore at Torygg's heart to think of the cost of the silence.

One day he stepped into the Hall of Valor to find his fellow Nords gathered tightly around the long mead table, a tense atmosphere filling the room. For the first time since Torygg had come to Sovngarde, there was no music playing, and barrels of mead sat untouched. _What in Oblivion has happened?_ Not even on the worst day of the Civil War had he seen the honored dead look so dispirited. Death was a necessary fact of life, an inevitable consequence of mortality; no one knew that better than these Nords.

Only two sat apart from the pack. Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist watched from a shadowed table in the corner, two tankards of mead before them.

"What's going on?" He asked. The others spoke in hushed whispers, as if fearful of awakening the wrath of some unknown malevolence. "Is it another war?"

"Worse," said a rumbling voice behind him. Torygg turned to see Tsun himself crouched in the doorway. It would have been a comical sight, in any other circumstance. The ancient god stepped fully inside, but his head still nearly brushed the ceiling. "Much worse."

Kodak Whitemane stepped forward from the pack. "I've a feeling you haven't come all the way from the whalebone bridge to set our minds at ease. It's true, isn't it?"

"Aye." Tsun grimaced. "The Dragonborn is dead."

A nervous murmur shuddered through the Hall, but only for a moment. There were no milk-drinkers in Sovngarde.

Torygg stepped back, dazed, and reached for a chair. _How can this be?_

Kodlak's brow furrowed. "Can we at least take comfort in the knowledge that the World-Eater has met a similar fate?"

Tsun shook his head. "Alduin lives. The Dragonborn died in honorable battle, fighting one of his lieutenants. The dragon was slain, but the corpse of the mighty beast fell upon the Dragonborn. He was killed in an instant."

"Then he will soon arrive here," Torygg said. "He can still fulfill his destiny, when Alduin comes to Sovngarde."

"The Dragonborn is lost to us, in body and soul. Driven by some whim of madness, he swore his soul to Sithis. They are together in the Void, now."

Kodlak cursed. "Shor have mercy on the poor boy."

Ysgramor stood up from the table, his arms crossed. "Witness what comes of forging pacts with demons. Bah. T'would be a falsehood to say I was surprised. Ya make an elf the Dragonborn, ye get what ye deserve."

Gormlaith Golden-Hilt glared daggers at him. "The Dragonborn was a being of honor, whatever be his race. Hold your tongue, whitebeard. Or see it cut out."

"Come closer, wench." Ysgramor bared his teeth, his wide mad eyes gleaming like pearls. "Show me yer worth."

Kodlak brought his fist down hard on the table, clattering plates and upending tankards. "Enough. This is no time to be squabbling like whelps."

Torygg looked glumly up at Tsun. "Is there anything to be done?"

"Yes. I've received guidance from above. The lost Dovahkiin can not be saved, but another of the dragon blood can be forged." Tsun glanced around the room, a thoughtful expression on his face. "More time will be needed. Two will be chosen to return to Mundus, to carry out the will of the gods."

Ysgramor spoke, "Hear me, mighty one. I'll go back to fix yer divine mess. Wager the World-Eater will fall swiftly to my great-axe. Too long have I festered in this hall, without a foe to face."

His son, Ylgar, took up the call. "Hark! The Harbinger and his firstborn return to Skyrim. We shall end Alduin's eternity, then throw off the yolk of elvenkind."

Tsun responded, "No. The two have already been chosen. Son of Hoag, step forward."

Silence reigned in the Hall. _Son of Hoag?_ It took Torygg a shamefully long minute to recall his history, and in that time Ulfric Stormcloak had stood from his table in the corner and walked over to stand before Tsun.

"I'll have no part in this." Ulfric crossed his arms. "I bled for Skyrim. I died for her. Now you ask me to return, in the name of the elf who led the Nords to ruin? Let the Imperials and their collaborators reap what they have sown."

Gormlaith cried, "Craven!"

Kodlak said, "It's not just the Empire that will suffer when Alduin comes to Sovngarde. Surely you would not let the world end merely out of spite?"

"I am not one to stand in the way of destiny." Ulfric didn't look at any of his detractors. "It was fate that I die by the Dragonborn's sword. It sickens me that you even ask me to return. Is this truly the province of Sovngarde? Resurrection. Travel through time. Meddling with reality. I would sooner ascribe these unnatural actions to our ancient enemies, the dwarves and the dark elves."

Ysgramor grinned and leaned forward, his long beard brushing the top of his tankard. "The boy's afraid. Watch him shiver and shake, like a babe in the womb. Ye have chosen poorly, Tsun."

"You will not be alone on this doom-driven quest," Tsun continued, as if he hadn't heard Ulfric's complaints. "Make yourself known, son of Istlod."

Torygg closed his eyes and waited for someone else to stand. _Istlod's a common enough name. There have to be a hundred Nords in here._ But he heard no one else speak up, and his heart slowly fell into his stomach. _Come on, now. Toughen up. What else have you got to lose?_

He stood, brushing off his noble clothes. "Very well. I will go."

"Him?" Ulfric chuckled darkly. "The gods are truly lost. This man is a politician - a misguided one, at that."

Kodlak smiled. "And yet he seems to have more courage in his heart than you, Stormcloak."

"I don't know about courage," Torygg said. "More self-preservation than anything. Where do us poor souls go, after Alduin makes a meal of the world? I've no wish to find out."

From the corner, Galmar chimed in. "Don't let the tongue-waggler show you up, Ulfric. Dead King Torygg won't last a day without a true Nord by his side."

Torygg shrugged. "He's probably right."

"Akatosh must think this a fine jest." Ulfric sighed. "Fine. I'll follow the gods' command. But this still seems like folly, to me. You say we'll be put back in time? How long? Must we not still fulfill our mortal roles? This milk drinker was a High King."

Tsun shook his head. "Nay. The laws of time have been stretched. All that perished will still perish, but the circumstances may differ. The Civil War must still end." He swept his arm across the room, indicating all the gathered souls. "Many will return. All that have come to Sovngarde since the Dragonborn's arrival in Skyrim. Only the chosen two will know what the future holds."

Ulfric seethed. "You expect me to stand by and watch as my countrymen suffer and die? _Again?_ This is too much to ask."

"You will obey." Tsun put a massive hand on Ulfric's shoulder. Next to the minor god, Ulfric looked like a child. "If you interfere, all will be lost. Your Stormcloaks have found peace here, in Sovngarde. If Alduin triumphs, that peace will be lost to all of the honored souls."

Torygg coughed politely. "And what of me? I met my unfortunate end long before the Dragonborn came to power. It may be a tad difficult to blend in."

"Walk the world, bare-faced. Speak your true name. None will truly know you unless you wish it to be so." Tsun nodded towards Ulfric. "The same is true for the killer of kings. You will both be strangers to this world. Just as the Dragonborn was. This is the way it must be."

"Very well." Torygg rubbed his forehead. It would be nice to leave Sovngarde, at least for a little while. He hadn't seen nearly enough of Skyrim's beauty in such a short lifetime. "When do we leave?"

"Now." Before Torygg could blink, Tsun had reached out and grabbed the both of them. An aura of warmth enveloped Torygg. He heard a popping sound, like the cork of a wine bottle exploding out, and then the light blinded him completely. 


End file.
